


Satisfaction

by Beth_Penrose



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 01x20, Cannon compliant character death, F/M, Stabbing, non con touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Penrose/pseuds/Beth_Penrose
Summary: What happens with Ainsley and Endicott before Malcolm arrives in the finale and what's going through Ainsley's head when she doesit.
Relationships: nicholas endicott/ainsley whitley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you like this. Included the noncon warning to be safe, but it's noncon touching, not sex, so you know with how much caution to proceed.

Ainsley didn’t know why she was still at her family home, instead of curled up in her softest blanket in her own comfortable apartment. But with both her mother and brother missing she felt like it was only right that someone be there. In case of emergency. She scoffed at that. Her family was the emergency, one right after the other. Where even were they? Her mother had left several hours ago, not bothering to share a destination. Which meant that she knew Ainsley wouldn’t approve. And of course, she hadn’t seen Malcolm since he had admitted to the cops that he had snuck out of the house. For what had to be the hundredth time that day she thanked God for making her the one sane Whitley.

She was debating saying _screw it_ and going home when a sharp rap at the door made Ainsley jump. _Calm down,_ she admonished herself. _Stop being such a child._ When she opened the door the man standing on her stoop caused the blood to run cold in her veins. Endicott. Every cell in Ainsley’s body wanted to run, to pitch herself across the room and out the nearest window, anything to get away from this man. Instead, she forced a congenial smile that would have made Jessica proud.

“Nicholas,” She acknowledged, tone bright. “What a surprise. Unfortunately, my mother isn’t home. I’m sure she’d love to see you in the morning, though.” When she went to shut the door, it was stopped by one shiny black shoe.

“Actually, Ainsley,” he replied, the friendliness in his voice strong enough to rival hers, “I’m here to see you.” Before she could protest he shoved the door open wider and was making his way into the foyer.

“What do you want?” She managed, her heart beating faster as his imposing frame loomed closer.

“I want you to stop. All of you. Your mother, your brother, you. And I think you’re the key to getting that to happen.” While he was talking Ainsley was trying to push back the rising terror. _Find a weapon. Or a way out. Whatever’s closest._ She allowed her eyes to flick around as Endicott backed her up into the sitting room. That was good, actually. There was a fireplace poker on the opposite wall. About twelve feet away. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Endicott let out a _tsk tsk._ “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’m faster than you, I promise.” Ainsley almost doubted that. She wasn’t particularly strong, but she had taken plenty of self defense courses, and she practiced yoga and jogged regularly enough. But Nicholas had a _look_ on his face, a look like he could break her in half and not think twice about it. So, the poker was not an option. But she would be damned if she let someone like this intimidate her into being the damsel in distress.

A slight vibration in her back pocket gave Ainsley a new idea. But she’d have to distract Endicott if it was going to work.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “You think you can use me as leverage?” She forcced as much contempt in the words as she could. While she spoke, she let her right hand drift to her back pocket and her cell phone tucked therein. She had called Malcom last, so pulling up his number should be pretty easy. “What, did playing my mother stop working for you? Speaking of which, that’s a rough shiner you got there.” Ainsley nodded at the bruise forming around Endicott’s right eye. Despite the situation a surge of pride grew in her at the idea of Jessica dealing this man a blow. But she forced herself to focus on unlocking the phone with her fingerprint while talking. Her growing smirk was cut short when Endicott moved closer.

She didn’t even have time to react to the invasion of her personal space, to the way it made her gag, because his hand was on her wrist now, pulling her hand, with the phone out of the pocket. Ainsley fought the urge to start scratching at him, clawing and screaming and kicking until his skin was no longer touching hers. Instead, she swallowed hard, looking down at the phone now held between them.

“Oh, that’s just… ummm…”

“It’s alright, Ainsley,” Endicott assured her like she was a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar and he was a parent looking down on her. “Like I said, I want to get a message out to your family. So go ahead, contact your brother. In fact, why don’t you tell him to come join us?”

It was a long twenty minutes waiting for Malcolm to arrive. Endicott had forced her to the loveseat facing the door. Ainsley almost wanted to laugh at the melodramatic air of it all. The ridiculous thing was that he didn’t even have a weapon, at least not one that she could see. But she knew that here, with just the two of them, getting away would be challenge enough. Besides, she had no doubt that he had people waiting outside to catch her the moment she made a break for it. People were Nicholas Endicott’s weapon of choice. So she sat, in nervous but manageable anticipation.

That is, until the tense air between them was broken by a hand on her thigh. Ainsley was so surprised she jumped just an inch, looking down as if there was any question as to whom it belonged to. She couldn’t believe that Endicott would be so daring, to lay a hand on her in her own home. Well, she could believe it, she just wasn’t used to it. She was Ainsley Whitley. She may get overzealous letters at the studio, the occasional wolf whistle on the street, but harassment was something that she had never allowed into her life. Whereas Malcolm had struggled through school, the first time some bitchy seventh grader had tried to bring up her father, she had sent the girl running to the restroom in tears with a few whispered rumors about her father and the nanny. And when she was seventeen and a boy had tried putting his hand up her shirt she’d grabbed him by the wrist and said that she didn’t need her dad to kill him, she could break his bones all on her own. She may be the daughter of Martin Whitley, serial killer. She was also the daughter of Jessica Whitley, New York socialite. And she knew how to defend herself with, well, _surgical_ precision. But not against Endicott. _You don’t tell him no, that’s his one rule._ That was what Martin had said to her back in Clairemont. So, an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. Except Ainsley didn’t feel unmovable, not this time.

Endicott chuckled, apparently amused by Ainsley’s sudden start. When he moved his hand up her leg forced herself to hold still as a statue. He wanted a reaction. She would be damned if she gave him one. Internally, though, she was screaming. Screaming, crying, begging, and surprisingly upset that his warm hands were no doubt going to be leaving sweat marks on her new slacks. She hoped that when Malcolm arrived, he wouldn’t notice them, would never know what was happening. When his hand moved to her hip she couldn’t hold still anymore. She moved to buck him off, only to have his other hand thread through her hair, jerking her head to the side. She couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped at that.

“Nicholas,” the word was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…” He chuckled against her skin, mouth pressing against her exposed neck.

“Begging already, Ainsley? What happened to all that vigor, all that Whitley defiance?” She shook her head, twisting her hands together in her lap. She knew he was getting off on the tears pooling in her eyes but they fell all the same.

“Oh you, you rich bitches are all the same. You think you’re untouchable, but you fall apart just like the rest. Your mom was like that, too.” That caused Ainsley to jerk out of her stupor of self defeat. Her mom had been missing for too long. What had Endicott done to her? Had she survived life with one monster just to fall prey to another one? Rage rose in her throat with the panic and she shook Endicott off, turning to snap at him.

“You bastard, what the hell did you-“ Before she could finish the sentence a hand was around her throat, pressing her back against the loveseat.

“I didn’t do anything to her. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be the one who did anything. You know that. And it’s the same with you, Ainsley. I have no intention of hurting you. But if you don’t get that temper of yours under control, I’m going to call for one of my men hidden outside the front door, and I can’t speak for him.” His voice got low when he continued. “Do we understand each other?” Ainsley swallowed hard, nodding silently. More tears fell and that only served to widen Endicott’s grin. “Good.” The hand that had been on her hip was slipping under her sweater, up the flat of her second, and Ainsley locked her gaze on the front door, willing Malcolm to arrive quickly.

When he did arrive the click of the door was deafening in the silent house. Ainsley wanted to call out to her brother, to warn him. But Endicott placed a hand on the back of her neck, an almost causal warning, and she mutely watched as Malcolm entered the room. Their gazes locked and she could see the moment he comprehended the scene in front of him, the fear and surprise spread in those shockingly blue eyes.

“Ainsley, did he hurt you?” A defense, or a denial, was forming in Ainsley’s throat. But before she could say anything, Endicott cut her off. 

“Not a hair on her head.” Ainsley didn’t bother to contest that. Endicott hadn’t hurt her in anyway that she wouldn’t heal from. Besides, now Endicott was standing up, moving towards the drink cart in the corner. And like a broken spell, Ainsley found that she could move again. In fact, she couldn’t move fast enough to get away from him, scurrying across the room. She hoped that Malcolm wouldn’t notice the tremble in her hands- she almost laughed at the irony of that- or the way that she only looked at Endicott through furtive glances. But now that there was distance between the two of them, now that she was at least something close to safe, she could think again. She could see how this scene would play out, like a bad drama on tv. Malcolm pulled out a gun, waving it wildly at Endicott, and she was not remotely surprised. She thought he might grab a knife, or a lamp to use as a blunt object. But in the end it was all the same. Because he wouldn’t do it. He was too afraid of turning out like Martin. Besides, Malcolm wasn’t the one who had felt Endicott’s hot breath just minutes ago, the one whose skin had been pressed by his hands. With those memories, with the knowledge that she would have to carry them the rest of her life, Ainsley had no such qualms. She could consider later whether murdering one bad man made her the same as her father, though she was sure it didn’t. Right now, Nicholas Endicott was bragging about how he would never go to jail, about how his influence was too strong. And she knew that was true, too. There was only one way to stop him, and if Malcolm wouldn’t do it, well…

Ainsley waited until they were both distracted to slip over to the knife drawer and sneak behind Endicott. And once she was there she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his hair the same way that he had grabbed hers, tugging his head back, and she dragged the blade across his throat in one of the most satisfying gestures she could think of. When Endicott turned to face her, the shock and pain in his expression didn’t fill Ainsley with regret, or guilt. It filled her with satisfaction. She could still feel it, his hands on her, her skin and her hair. It might never go away. But he could. And she could make him. Channeling all of her own fear and rage Ainsley drove the knife into Endicott’s chest again, and again. And when he finally slumped to the ground, dead at her feet, she couldn’t help one last satisfied glance at his body before meeting her own brother’s terrifying gaze. She adopted a shocked look, as if coming out of a stupor, and said in the most dazed voice she could manage “What just happened?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked, I live for your feedback. Thanks!


End file.
